Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Thirteen.The Beginning of Trouble.“Godfrey!”“Hush, my darling; think of the children. Be firm. Be firm.”“But it is too horrible.”“Is this my dear wife speaking?” said Sir Godfrey, gravely, as he took his dame’s hand.“Yes,” said Lady Markham, excitedly. “Would you have me sit silent when such a demand is made?”Sir Godfrey’s brow was knit, and his nether lip quivered as he heard his wife’s words, while Lil, who seemed alarmed, crept to her brother’s side and held his hand.“The demand is just, wife,” said Sir Godfrey, at last. “I am a soldier, sworn to help my king.”“You were a soldier once, love,” interposed Lady Markham.“I am a soldier, wife. Still a soldier, though during these peaceful years I have been allowed to live peacefully here at home. The time has now come when my master needs the help of all his loyal servants. He calls me to his help, and do you think I am going to play the coward and knave, and hide here in idleness while every rogue is striking at the crown? Come: be a woman. Do your duty.”“My duty is to those children, Godfrey,” said Lady Markham, piteously.“And to your husband. You, as a brave, true woman, now that the perilous time has come when ruin and destruction threatens the kingdom, you, I say, should be the first to buckle on your husband’s sword.”“Father!” cried Scarlett, “are you going away?”“Yes, boy; I am summoned to Exeter. From there, perhaps to Bristol.”“And when do you come back?”Sir Godfrey was silent for a few moments, and then said calmly—“Heaven knows!”“Godfrey!” cried Lady Markham, and she threw herself sobbing on her knees.“Oh, father, father!” cried Lil, running to him and catching his hand, but only to be snatched up to his breast and kissed passionately; “don’t, pray don’t go away. You’ll break poor mother’s heart.”“Hush, child!” said Sir Godfrey, sternly. “Do you think I wish to leave all who are dear to me for the risks of war? Remember there is such a thing as duty.”“Yes, father,” sobbed Lil, nestling to his breast.“Scar, my boy, what have you to say? You have heard the king’s throne is in danger, and he calls upon his loyal west-country gentlemen to come to his help. Are we loyal or are we not?”“Loyal, father, of course.”“And you say, then?”“That you must go, father. Yes, you must go.”“Right! my brave boy, right!” cried Sir Godfrey, seizing the lad’s hand. “I must go—at once. And you, while I am gone, will be your mother’s help and support—your sister’s protector.”Scarlett did not speak, but looked his father firmly in the face.“I shall leave everything in your hands, and from this day forward you must cease to be a boy, and act as a calm and thoughtful man. I make you my steward and representative, Scarlett. Do your best, and by your quiet, consistent conduct, make yourself obeyed. You understand?”“I hear what you say, father.”“Well, sir, why do you speak in that hesitating way?”“Because, father, I shall not be here.”“Scarlett!” cried Sir Godfrey, in a tone full of displeasure.“Don’t be angry with me, father,” cried the lad. “You are going away—because the king wants the help of every loyal heart. Well, father, you will take me too.”“Take—you? Scar! No, no; you are too young.”“I expected to hear you say that, but I shall soon be older; and, though I am only a boy, I could be useful to you in a hundred ways. I suppose I am too young to fight.”“Yes, yes; of course.”“Well, others could do the fighting. Couldn’t you make me something—your esquire?”“Knights do not have esquires now, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, with a smile; “but—”He stopped short, while his son gazed at him eagerly, waiting for the end of his speech.“Yes, father—but—?” said Scarlett, after waiting some time.“I was only thinking, my son, as to which was my duty—to bid you watch over your mother and sister here, or to devote you to the service of your king.”“Devote me to the service of my king, father,” cried Scarlett, proudly.“No, no, my boy,” cried Lady Markham. “Don’t try to stop me, mother,” said Scarlett. “You know I should have to stay here in peace to take care of you who are not in danger; but ought you not rather wish to have me trying to watch over him who will be in the war?”Lady Markham bowed her head. She could not trust herself to speak, for her son’s words had set his going in a new light. But she still hesitated, clinging first to father, then to son, and ending by exclaiming—“Heaven’s will be done! I can say no more.”“No, mother. Let me go, and I will do all I can to protect my father.”She gazed piteously at him through her tears, and then cast herself sobbing upon his breast, while Sir Godfrey gravely set his daughter by her mother’s side, and laid his hand upon her head.“Scarlett is right, dearest. He can do more good by embracing his father’s profession at once. He will learn to be a soldier, and—perhaps—he may be able to protect me. Who can tell!”Lady Markham took and kissed her husband’s hand, and then once more embraced her son, ending by taking her daughter to her heart, and weeping over her silently, while Sir Godfrey paced the room.“Yes, my boy?” he said suddenly, as he caught his son’s eye.“When shall you start, father?”“To-morrow at the latest. Quite early in the morning, if we can get away.”“So soon?”“Yes. Have you begun to repent already?”“Oh no, father; but I thought that I should like to go over to the Manor to say good-bye.”Sir Godfrey held up his hand.“Impossible, my boy. By the same despatch I learned that Colonel Forrester—unhappy man!—has cast in his lot with the Roundheads. I am told, too, that he has been harbouring one of the enemy’s generals, who has been about the country organising revolt against his majesty, under the name of Captain Miles. Scarlett, my boy, the Forresters are the enemies of the king, and therefore ours.”“Poor Fred!” said Scarlett, half aloud.“Ay, poor Fred!” said Sir Godfrey. “Do you think it possible that you could save him from this fate by bringing him over to us? He is your friend, Scarlett?”“Yes, father, but—”“Yes, my boy, you are right. It would be a cowardly deed to try and separate father and son. Would it were otherwise, for I like the boy.”“Like him, father? It seems horrible; just as if one was losing a brother, and could not stretch out a hand. And you would not like me to say good-bye to Fred, father?”“You cannot now, my boy; neither while he is against us can I take Colonel Forrester’s hand again.”There was a painful pause here, broken by Lady Markham’s sobs; and then, with a sudden display of soldierly firmness, Sir Godfrey bent down and kissed his wife.“Come, my darling,” he said, “remember your duty as the wife and mother of two soldiers suddenly called away.”“I’ll try,” said Lady Markham, rising sadly.“And succeed,” replied Sir Godfrey, gently. “Come, Scarlett, my boy. Time flies. You will choose which horse you like, and prepare the very few necessaries that you can carry. We shall get our equipment at Exeter, so work hard, as if you momentarily expected to hear the trumpet call, ‘To horse.’ Why, it stirs my blood again, after all these years of idleness. That’s better, my darling. Women should not weep when those they love are about to leave on duty, but give them smiles.”“Smiles, Godfrey!” said Lady Markham, sadly.“Yes, smiles. Every soldier who goes to fight does not get hard blows or wounds. Many escape everything, and come back covered with glory and full of the sense of duty done. There, Scarlett, my boy, away with you and pack your valise. Recollect you are a soldier now.”Scarlett dashed at his mother, kissed her, and then, bewildered by excitement, he hurried out to go to the stable and select the horse he might need to carry him in many a perilous time; but before he reached the long range of buildings where Sir Godfrey’s horses led their peaceful life, he was attacked by Nat.“Here, Master Scar,” he cried excitedly, catching the lad by the sleeve, “is it true?”“Is what true?”“That the war’s coming nigher our way, and they’ve sent for the master to fight?”“Yes, Nat; true enough,” said the lad, proudly drawing himself up. “Sir Godfrey and I are going off to the wars to-morrow morning.”“You, Master Scar? You?”“Yes, Nat; to-morrow.”“Why, dear heart alive, Master Scar, lad,” cried Nat, laying his hand affectionately on the boy’s shoulder, “it seems only t’other day as you used to come and coax me to leave my mowing and go on hands and knees to make a horse for you to ride, and now you’re talking about going to the war.”“Yes, Nat. Time goes.”“But, dear lad,” cried the gardener, letting his hand slide down to Scarlett’s biceps, “why, you haven’t got the muscle in your arm to handle a scythe, let alone a sword to mow down men.”“I can’t help that, Nat,” cried Scarlett, angrily. “Let go. There’ll be muscle enough to thrash you some day.”“I hope so, dear lad. But try and thrash brother Samson first. I should like to see you do that.”“Don’t talk nonsense. And come along. I want to look at the horses.”“But are you really going, Master Scar?”“I—am—really—going, Nat, and I want to settle which horse I shall ride. So please say no more about it.”Nat took off his hat and scratched his head, his face wrinkling up all over as he followed his young master to the stables, just like one of his own pippins which had been lying in the apple loft all through the winter.Then, as they reached the door, and Scarlett entered, Nat put on his cap, gave his knee a slap, and with one set of wrinkles disappearing from his countenance to make room for another, like a human dissolving view, he burst out into a low chuckle.“That’ll knock the wind out of old Samson’s sails! A miserable, cowardly, fat-headed old puddick. He wouldn’t have the courage to do that.”“Nat!”“Coming, Master Scar;” and Nat hurried into the stables to find his young master standing beside the light cob his father often rode. “Hullo, Master Scar, sir, thinking about having Moorcock?”“Yes, Nat. My father is sure not to take him for his charger, and he would suit me exactly.”“Well, yes, sir, I dare say he would. But why not have Black Adder?”“Because I thought my father would like him.”“Nay, sir; master’ll choose Thunder, as sure as can be, and— Hush! Here he is.”“Well, my boy, have you made your selection?” said Sir Godfrey, as he entered the stables, where eight horses raised their heads to look round and utter a low whinny.“Yes, father; I have been hesitating between Moorcock and Black Adder, but I thought you would like the black.”“No, my boy, I have made up my mind to have Thunder.”“I think I’ll take Moorcock all the same,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully.“He will suit you better now. Two years hence, I should have said take Black Adder.”“Why not take ’em both, Master Scarlett?” said Nat, respectfully. “Black Adder knows me by heart, and I could ride him and take care of him when you didn’t want him, or he’d do for master if Thunder was out o’ sorts.”“Why, Nat, my good fellow,” said Sir Godfrey, smiling, “you will be here at the Hall, helping to protect her ladyship and cutting cabbages.”“No, I shan’t, Sir Godfrey,” replied the gardener, with a stubborn look in his bluff English face. “I shan’t be here, but along o’ you and Master Scarlett, and ’stead of cutting cabbages, I shall be cutting off heads.”“Nonsense, man!” said Sir Godfrey, but with far less conviction in his tone.“Beg your pardon, sir, but I don’t see no nonsense in it. I’ve sharpened scythes till they cut like razors, and if you don’t believe it, look at our lawn. Think, then, if I take my best rubber with me, I can’t sharpen a sword?”“Oh, nobody doubts that, my man; but—”“Why, look here, Sir Godfrey, I’ll keep yours and Master Scar’s swords with such an edge on ’em as shall frighten your enemies into fits. You’ll let me go, won’t you, dear master? I can’t stay behind.” Sir Godfrey shook his head. “Master Scarlett, sir, put in a word for me. Don’t go and leave me behind. I’ll be that faithful and true as never was.”“Nobody doubts that, my man.”“Then let me go, Sir Godfrey. Why, see how useful I can be. I can wash for you, and cook for you—anything, and cut a few armfuls of heath of a night to make your beds. And, look here, gen’lemen, soldiers on the march never gets a bit o’ vegetable; but if there’s any within a dozen miles of where you are, you shall always have it. So there!”“You do not know the hardships of a soldier’s life, my good fellow,” said Sir Godfrey, as he patted the neck of the noble-looking, dark-dappled grey in one of the stalls. Nat laughed.“Well, master,” he said, “if you gen’lemen as never gets yourselves wet can bear ’em, I should think I can. Let me go, sir, please.” Sir Godfrey hesitated.“Well, my lad,” he said, “I must warn you of the risks of what you ask. We both go with our lives and liberties in our hands.”“All right, sir; and I’ll take my life and liberty in my hand, though I don’t zackly know what you mean.”“I mean that any day you may be cut down or shot.”“Oh, that, Sir Godfrey! Well, so’s our flowers and fruits every day. That’s their chance, I suppose, and I’ll take mine same as you take yours. Maybe I might help to keep off a bit o’ danger from both on you, and I don’t suppose Master Scarlett would let any man give me a chop, if he could stop it.”Sir Godfrey gave his horse a final pat on his fine arching neck, and walked back out of the stall, to stand gazing full at his man, who slipped off his hat, and drew himself up awkwardly in soldierly fashion. Then, without a word, and to Nat’s dismay, he turned to his son.“Yes,” he said; “take Moorcock, my boy, and the stoutest saddle and bridle you can find.”Then he walked straight out of the stables, leaving Nat gazing after him in dismay.“And me with such arms, Master Scar!” he cried, in a protesting tone. “Look here, sir.”He stripped off his jerkin and rolled his shirt up over his knotted limbs, right to the shoulder, displaying thew and sinew of which a gladiator might have been proud.“Well, Master Scar, sir, as I’m not to go, I wish I could chop off them two arms, and give ’em to you, for you’d find ’em very useful when you came to fight.”Just then the stable door was darkened by the figure of Sir Godfrey, who looked in, and said sharply—“Scarlett, my boy, I have been thinking that over. It would be wise to take Black Adder too, in case one of our steeds breaks down.”Nat’s ears gave a visible twitch, and seemed to cock towards the speaker, as he continued—“I’ll leave it in your hands to settle about Nat. You can take him if you wish.”He walked away, and in an instant Nat was squatting down, and going through what is known to boys as the cobbler’s hornpipe for a few moments, a triumphal terpsichorean performance, which he ended directly, and ran to the wall, ducked down head and hands, till he planted them on the stone floor, and, throwing up his heels, stood upon his head, and tapped the wall with the backs of his boots.“Nat, come down,” cried Scarlett, laughing. “Why, what does that mean?”“Mean, sir? Why, I feel as if I could jump out o’ my skin.”“Why?”“Because I’m a-going along o’ you, and to show my brother Samson as we’ve got some stuff in our family.”“But I didn’t say that you were to go.”“No, Master Scar; but you’re going to, aren’t you?”Scarlett was silent.“Oh, Master Scar, sir, don’t you run back. Do, do pray take me. Ah, I see a twinkle at the corner of your mouth. You’re only teasing a fellow. I may go, sir?”“Yes, Nat; and I’m very, very glad.”Nat startled the horses by throwing his cap to the roof of the stable, and made them tug at their halters, but it did not seem to matter to him, for he caught up a pitchfork, shouldered it, and began to march up and down, shouting rather than singing a snatch of a song he had heard somewhere in the neighbourhood, where the war fever had been catching more men than they knew—“‘So it’s up with the sword that will fight for the crown,And down with the—down with the—down with the—’“I say, Master Scar, what comes next?”“I don’t know at all. But I’ll tell you what must come next.”“Yes sir.”“Pack up and be ready for the march to-morrow, and we’ve got to say good-bye.”“Yes, Master Scar, and glad I’ll be when it’s over, for there’ll be some wet eyes in the Hall, both parlour and kitchen, before we set away.”Nat was right. There were tears, many and bitter, for master and man that night; and next morning when, after tying a scarf round her son’s shoulder, Lady Markham clung to him passionately, till, with a last hasty kiss to his sister, a final embrace to his mother, Scarlett set spurs to his sturdy horse, and galloped off across the park to where Nat was waiting, and there he drew rein to allow his father to come up.Sir Godfrey rode fast till he was within about twenty yards, when he signed to them to ride on, and the trio went forward slowly till they were at the top of the slope, where they instinctively turned to take a farewell look at the old Hall and the handkerchiefs waving adieu.“So peaceful and happy,” said Scarlett to himself; and then, with a curious sensation as of a film being drawn over his eyes, he turned away, pressed his horse’s sides, and when he strained round in the saddle again to look back, it was to see the tops of trees growing about his home, and the moorland spreading away to the sea. Nothing more.“Hah! I’m glad that’s over, Master Scar,” said Nat, with a sigh of relief as they went gently along the lane which opened upon the high-road lying to west and east, and there crossed it and led on towards the Manor.They were within twenty yards of the cross-roads, when Nat looked cautiously back, to see if his master was within hearing, and seeing that he was not, he chuckled and said softly—“Master Scar, sir.”“Yes,” said Scarlett, starting from a reverie full of recollections about the times he and Fred had traversed that road on very different missions to the present.“I was just thinking, sir, that I’d give every penny I’ve saved up again I get married, which may happen some day, to see our Samson come shuffling up yonder lane. How he would stare, and how mad he would be, and—”“Hush, Nat. Look!”The ex-gardener sat up, round-eyed and as if turned into stone, while the clatter of horse’s hoofs behind told that Sir Godfrey had set spurs to his horse, and was riding on to join them, which he did, drawing rein as they reached the cross-roads, an act duly imitated by the group of three horsemen coming up the lane from the opposite direction, and there at the intersection of the great main western road, the two little parties sat gazing at each other, accident having arranged that master, son, and servant from Hall and Manor should be exactly opposite to each other, gazing in each other’s eyes.For full a minute no one spoke, and then Thunder, Sir Godfrey’s charger, threw up his noble head and whinnied loudly what might have been taken as a defiance.“Now, Master Scar,” whispered Nat, “isn’t the master going to give the word. It’s war now, and we can soon do them.”“Silence!” cried Sir Godfrey, sternly; and then, turning to Colonel Forrester, he raised his plumed Cavalier hat, the colonel responding by lifting the steel morion he wore.Then it was as if Sir Godfrey’s command had had its effect upon all present, for they gazed straight at each other, Nat and Samson with the look of a couple of angry dogs waiting to be let loose and fight; the two lads in a puzzled manner, as if ready to shake hands, and held back by some invisible chain; and their fathers with a haughty look of anger and disdain.Sir Godfrey was the first to speak in a stern tone of voice, as he looked straight in Colonel Forrester’s eyes.“May I ask, sir,” he said, “in which direction you are going?”“No, sir,” was the calm reply. “You have no right to make such a demand.”“Then I will address you in a more friendly spirit, Colonel Forrester. The road here to the east leads towards the king’s followers—the gentry of the west who are gathering together beneath his banner to put an end to the disorder and anarchy now running riot through the land. You will, I presume, as a loyal gentleman, join us, and we can ride together.”“Is this banter or earnest, Sir Godfrey?” replied the colonel, as the two boys sat with their ears tingling.“Earnest, Colonel Forrester. What other course could I expect an officer to take?”“Then, if it be in earnest, sir—no; I ride not with you to help to bolster up a tyranny which makes every true man in England blush for his country.”“Colonel Forrester!”“Sir Godfrey Markham!”There was a pause, during which the two old friends gazed defiantly at each other, and then Colonel Forrester continued—“No, sir; I ride to the west, to join those whom you call the inciters to riot, anarchy, and confusion; but whom we, as true, honest Englishmen, think of as those who are fighting to free our land and to rescue it from the degradation to which it has been brought. Let me entreat you, sir, as a gentleman, to think twice before you take the road to the east, for the way is open still to the west. Ride with us, Sir Godfrey. So old and gallant a soldier would be most welcome to our ranks.”“And a traitor to the king, whose commission I hold, and whose uniform I shall once again wear.”“Traitor!” said Colonel Forrester, starting, and his hand darted to the hilt of his sword; but he drew it back with a hasty “Pish!”“Yes, sir, traitor, as you seem disposed to prove; but I warn you in time. The king will prove the master over the wretched band of anarchists who have risen against him.”“Enough!” said Colonel Forrester. “That has to be proved.”“Proved or no, sir, I command you to ride with me or to return to your home. You are in arms against the king, the government, and the law of this land. Surrender!”“Sir Godfrey, too much commanding of slaves to your wishes has rendered you absurd of speech.”“Do you hear me, sir?” cried Sir Godfrey. “I order you to follow me.”Colonel Forrester’s hand went again to his sword, but he snatched it back.“I cannot answer your intemperate words, Sir Godfrey,” he said; “and I will not presume to utter so vain a command to you. This is free England, sir, where every man who dares to think, thinks according to his belief. We have been old friends; our boys have grown up together as brothers, but the exigencies of our political faith sunder us widely apart. Ride you your way, sir, and I pray you let me go mine; and may our ways be farther and farther separated, so that we may never meet again till it is in peace.”As he spoke, he turned his horse, and rode slowly away down the western road, leaving Sir Godfrey chafing angrily, and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword, as he sat gazing after his old friend calmly ignoring his presence, and followed by his son and his serving-man.“I ought to arrest him—a man openly in arms against the law; an enemy to his majesty, who may work him terrible ill. But I cannot do it; I cannot do it. Old friends—brothers; our wives who have been as sisters.”He paused for a few moments, gazing after the retiring figures, and then jerked his horse round so sharply that the poor beast reared.“Left! Forward!” cried Sir Godfrey then, and he rode on to the east, followed at a short distance by Nat and his son.Before they had gone a dozen yards, Nat, who was fidgeting about in his saddle, evidently in a state of considerable mental perturbation, wrenched himself round and looked after the Manor people, to see that Samson was waiting for him to do so; and as soon as he did look, it was to see a derisive threatening gesture, Samson, by pantomime, suggesting that if he only had his brother’s head under his arm, he would punch his nose till he made it bleed.“Ur–r–r–r!” snarled Nat, with a growl like that of an irritated dog.“What’s the matter, Nat?”“Matter, sir? See that Samson—ah, he’s a rank bad ’un—shaking his fist at me, and pretending to punch me? Here, I must go and give it him now.”“No, no,” cried Scar, catching at Black Adder’s rein. “Your orders are to follow your colonel.”“But are we to let that brother of mine insult his majesty’s troops?”“We can afford to treat it with contempt,” said Scarlett, solemnly, though Nat’s words and allusions made him feel disposed to laugh.“But I want to treat it to a big leathering, Master Scar. Here, sir, mayn’t I ride after him and fetch him off his horse?”“No; certainly not.”“But, Master Scar, what could your father be thinking of? Here had we got three of the ugliest Philistines in Coombeland in our hand, and we’ve let ’em go to blight and freeze and blast everything. What could Sir Godfrey be thinking about?”“Nat.”“Yes, sir.”“Do you know what is a soldier’s first duty?”“To fight, sir.”“No: to obey orders.”“But we aren’t soldiers yet.”“I think we are; so be silent.”“Yes, sir; but if I only had leave, I’d draw my sword, gallop after that bad brother of mine, and fetch him off his horse, or jackass, or whatever the miserable beast is that he has his legs across.”“And kill him? Your own brother?”“Kill him? Not I, sir. He arn’t worth it. No; I’d take him prisoner, nearly knock his head off, and then I’d tie his hands to the tail of my horse, and drag him to the king’s camp in triumph.”Scarlett made no answer, for he had no faith in his servant’s threats; and together they rode on and on after Sir Godfrey, over the pleasant moor, and on to the cultivated lands, and then on and on still into the darkness, which seemed, as it thickened, like the gross darkness of war and destruction, sweeping down upon the fair and sunny west.So thought Scarlett Markham, as he still rode on through the darkness, and then his thoughts returned to home, and his mother’s attitude as she flung herself upon her knees, her clasped hands toward heaven, as she uttered a prayer for the protection of those she loved.Sir Godfrey made no sign. He merely turned from time to time to see if those he led were close behind, and then rode slowly on to join those whose hands were raised against their brothers—father and sons to plunge into the terrible warfare, which, once begun, seemed to know no end.

“Godfrey!”

“Hush, my darling; think of the children. Be firm. Be firm.”

“But it is too horrible.”

“Is this my dear wife speaking?” said Sir Godfrey, gravely, as he took his dame’s hand.

“Yes,” said Lady Markham, excitedly. “Would you have me sit silent when such a demand is made?”

Sir Godfrey’s brow was knit, and his nether lip quivered as he heard his wife’s words, while Lil, who seemed alarmed, crept to her brother’s side and held his hand.

“The demand is just, wife,” said Sir Godfrey, at last. “I am a soldier, sworn to help my king.”

“You were a soldier once, love,” interposed Lady Markham.

“I am a soldier, wife. Still a soldier, though during these peaceful years I have been allowed to live peacefully here at home. The time has now come when my master needs the help of all his loyal servants. He calls me to his help, and do you think I am going to play the coward and knave, and hide here in idleness while every rogue is striking at the crown? Come: be a woman. Do your duty.”

“My duty is to those children, Godfrey,” said Lady Markham, piteously.

“And to your husband. You, as a brave, true woman, now that the perilous time has come when ruin and destruction threatens the kingdom, you, I say, should be the first to buckle on your husband’s sword.”

“Father!” cried Scarlett, “are you going away?”

“Yes, boy; I am summoned to Exeter. From there, perhaps to Bristol.”

“And when do you come back?”

Sir Godfrey was silent for a few moments, and then said calmly—

“Heaven knows!”

“Godfrey!” cried Lady Markham, and she threw herself sobbing on her knees.

“Oh, father, father!” cried Lil, running to him and catching his hand, but only to be snatched up to his breast and kissed passionately; “don’t, pray don’t go away. You’ll break poor mother’s heart.”

“Hush, child!” said Sir Godfrey, sternly. “Do you think I wish to leave all who are dear to me for the risks of war? Remember there is such a thing as duty.”

“Yes, father,” sobbed Lil, nestling to his breast.

“Scar, my boy, what have you to say? You have heard the king’s throne is in danger, and he calls upon his loyal west-country gentlemen to come to his help. Are we loyal or are we not?”

“Loyal, father, of course.”

“And you say, then?”

“That you must go, father. Yes, you must go.”

“Right! my brave boy, right!” cried Sir Godfrey, seizing the lad’s hand. “I must go—at once. And you, while I am gone, will be your mother’s help and support—your sister’s protector.”

Scarlett did not speak, but looked his father firmly in the face.

“I shall leave everything in your hands, and from this day forward you must cease to be a boy, and act as a calm and thoughtful man. I make you my steward and representative, Scarlett. Do your best, and by your quiet, consistent conduct, make yourself obeyed. You understand?”

“I hear what you say, father.”

“Well, sir, why do you speak in that hesitating way?”

“Because, father, I shall not be here.”

“Scarlett!” cried Sir Godfrey, in a tone full of displeasure.

“Don’t be angry with me, father,” cried the lad. “You are going away—because the king wants the help of every loyal heart. Well, father, you will take me too.”

“Take—you? Scar! No, no; you are too young.”

“I expected to hear you say that, but I shall soon be older; and, though I am only a boy, I could be useful to you in a hundred ways. I suppose I am too young to fight.”

“Yes, yes; of course.”

“Well, others could do the fighting. Couldn’t you make me something—your esquire?”

“Knights do not have esquires now, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, with a smile; “but—”

He stopped short, while his son gazed at him eagerly, waiting for the end of his speech.

“Yes, father—but—?” said Scarlett, after waiting some time.

“I was only thinking, my son, as to which was my duty—to bid you watch over your mother and sister here, or to devote you to the service of your king.”

“Devote me to the service of my king, father,” cried Scarlett, proudly.

“No, no, my boy,” cried Lady Markham. “Don’t try to stop me, mother,” said Scarlett. “You know I should have to stay here in peace to take care of you who are not in danger; but ought you not rather wish to have me trying to watch over him who will be in the war?”

Lady Markham bowed her head. She could not trust herself to speak, for her son’s words had set his going in a new light. But she still hesitated, clinging first to father, then to son, and ending by exclaiming—

“Heaven’s will be done! I can say no more.”

“No, mother. Let me go, and I will do all I can to protect my father.”

She gazed piteously at him through her tears, and then cast herself sobbing upon his breast, while Sir Godfrey gravely set his daughter by her mother’s side, and laid his hand upon her head.

“Scarlett is right, dearest. He can do more good by embracing his father’s profession at once. He will learn to be a soldier, and—perhaps—he may be able to protect me. Who can tell!”

Lady Markham took and kissed her husband’s hand, and then once more embraced her son, ending by taking her daughter to her heart, and weeping over her silently, while Sir Godfrey paced the room.

“Yes, my boy?” he said suddenly, as he caught his son’s eye.

“When shall you start, father?”

“To-morrow at the latest. Quite early in the morning, if we can get away.”

“So soon?”

“Yes. Have you begun to repent already?”

“Oh no, father; but I thought that I should like to go over to the Manor to say good-bye.”

Sir Godfrey held up his hand.

“Impossible, my boy. By the same despatch I learned that Colonel Forrester—unhappy man!—has cast in his lot with the Roundheads. I am told, too, that he has been harbouring one of the enemy’s generals, who has been about the country organising revolt against his majesty, under the name of Captain Miles. Scarlett, my boy, the Forresters are the enemies of the king, and therefore ours.”

“Poor Fred!” said Scarlett, half aloud.

“Ay, poor Fred!” said Sir Godfrey. “Do you think it possible that you could save him from this fate by bringing him over to us? He is your friend, Scarlett?”

“Yes, father, but—”

“Yes, my boy, you are right. It would be a cowardly deed to try and separate father and son. Would it were otherwise, for I like the boy.”

“Like him, father? It seems horrible; just as if one was losing a brother, and could not stretch out a hand. And you would not like me to say good-bye to Fred, father?”

“You cannot now, my boy; neither while he is against us can I take Colonel Forrester’s hand again.”

There was a painful pause here, broken by Lady Markham’s sobs; and then, with a sudden display of soldierly firmness, Sir Godfrey bent down and kissed his wife.

“Come, my darling,” he said, “remember your duty as the wife and mother of two soldiers suddenly called away.”

“I’ll try,” said Lady Markham, rising sadly.

“And succeed,” replied Sir Godfrey, gently. “Come, Scarlett, my boy. Time flies. You will choose which horse you like, and prepare the very few necessaries that you can carry. We shall get our equipment at Exeter, so work hard, as if you momentarily expected to hear the trumpet call, ‘To horse.’ Why, it stirs my blood again, after all these years of idleness. That’s better, my darling. Women should not weep when those they love are about to leave on duty, but give them smiles.”

“Smiles, Godfrey!” said Lady Markham, sadly.

“Yes, smiles. Every soldier who goes to fight does not get hard blows or wounds. Many escape everything, and come back covered with glory and full of the sense of duty done. There, Scarlett, my boy, away with you and pack your valise. Recollect you are a soldier now.”

Scarlett dashed at his mother, kissed her, and then, bewildered by excitement, he hurried out to go to the stable and select the horse he might need to carry him in many a perilous time; but before he reached the long range of buildings where Sir Godfrey’s horses led their peaceful life, he was attacked by Nat.

“Here, Master Scar,” he cried excitedly, catching the lad by the sleeve, “is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That the war’s coming nigher our way, and they’ve sent for the master to fight?”

“Yes, Nat; true enough,” said the lad, proudly drawing himself up. “Sir Godfrey and I are going off to the wars to-morrow morning.”

“You, Master Scar? You?”

“Yes, Nat; to-morrow.”

“Why, dear heart alive, Master Scar, lad,” cried Nat, laying his hand affectionately on the boy’s shoulder, “it seems only t’other day as you used to come and coax me to leave my mowing and go on hands and knees to make a horse for you to ride, and now you’re talking about going to the war.”

“Yes, Nat. Time goes.”

“But, dear lad,” cried the gardener, letting his hand slide down to Scarlett’s biceps, “why, you haven’t got the muscle in your arm to handle a scythe, let alone a sword to mow down men.”

“I can’t help that, Nat,” cried Scarlett, angrily. “Let go. There’ll be muscle enough to thrash you some day.”

“I hope so, dear lad. But try and thrash brother Samson first. I should like to see you do that.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. And come along. I want to look at the horses.”

“But are you really going, Master Scar?”

“I—am—really—going, Nat, and I want to settle which horse I shall ride. So please say no more about it.”

Nat took off his hat and scratched his head, his face wrinkling up all over as he followed his young master to the stables, just like one of his own pippins which had been lying in the apple loft all through the winter.

Then, as they reached the door, and Scarlett entered, Nat put on his cap, gave his knee a slap, and with one set of wrinkles disappearing from his countenance to make room for another, like a human dissolving view, he burst out into a low chuckle.

“That’ll knock the wind out of old Samson’s sails! A miserable, cowardly, fat-headed old puddick. He wouldn’t have the courage to do that.”

“Nat!”

“Coming, Master Scar;” and Nat hurried into the stables to find his young master standing beside the light cob his father often rode. “Hullo, Master Scar, sir, thinking about having Moorcock?”

“Yes, Nat. My father is sure not to take him for his charger, and he would suit me exactly.”

“Well, yes, sir, I dare say he would. But why not have Black Adder?”

“Because I thought my father would like him.”

“Nay, sir; master’ll choose Thunder, as sure as can be, and— Hush! Here he is.”

“Well, my boy, have you made your selection?” said Sir Godfrey, as he entered the stables, where eight horses raised their heads to look round and utter a low whinny.

“Yes, father; I have been hesitating between Moorcock and Black Adder, but I thought you would like the black.”

“No, my boy, I have made up my mind to have Thunder.”

“I think I’ll take Moorcock all the same,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully.

“He will suit you better now. Two years hence, I should have said take Black Adder.”

“Why not take ’em both, Master Scarlett?” said Nat, respectfully. “Black Adder knows me by heart, and I could ride him and take care of him when you didn’t want him, or he’d do for master if Thunder was out o’ sorts.”

“Why, Nat, my good fellow,” said Sir Godfrey, smiling, “you will be here at the Hall, helping to protect her ladyship and cutting cabbages.”

“No, I shan’t, Sir Godfrey,” replied the gardener, with a stubborn look in his bluff English face. “I shan’t be here, but along o’ you and Master Scarlett, and ’stead of cutting cabbages, I shall be cutting off heads.”

“Nonsense, man!” said Sir Godfrey, but with far less conviction in his tone.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but I don’t see no nonsense in it. I’ve sharpened scythes till they cut like razors, and if you don’t believe it, look at our lawn. Think, then, if I take my best rubber with me, I can’t sharpen a sword?”

“Oh, nobody doubts that, my man; but—”

“Why, look here, Sir Godfrey, I’ll keep yours and Master Scar’s swords with such an edge on ’em as shall frighten your enemies into fits. You’ll let me go, won’t you, dear master? I can’t stay behind.” Sir Godfrey shook his head. “Master Scarlett, sir, put in a word for me. Don’t go and leave me behind. I’ll be that faithful and true as never was.”

“Nobody doubts that, my man.”

“Then let me go, Sir Godfrey. Why, see how useful I can be. I can wash for you, and cook for you—anything, and cut a few armfuls of heath of a night to make your beds. And, look here, gen’lemen, soldiers on the march never gets a bit o’ vegetable; but if there’s any within a dozen miles of where you are, you shall always have it. So there!”

“You do not know the hardships of a soldier’s life, my good fellow,” said Sir Godfrey, as he patted the neck of the noble-looking, dark-dappled grey in one of the stalls. Nat laughed.

“Well, master,” he said, “if you gen’lemen as never gets yourselves wet can bear ’em, I should think I can. Let me go, sir, please.” Sir Godfrey hesitated.

“Well, my lad,” he said, “I must warn you of the risks of what you ask. We both go with our lives and liberties in our hands.”

“All right, sir; and I’ll take my life and liberty in my hand, though I don’t zackly know what you mean.”

“I mean that any day you may be cut down or shot.”

“Oh, that, Sir Godfrey! Well, so’s our flowers and fruits every day. That’s their chance, I suppose, and I’ll take mine same as you take yours. Maybe I might help to keep off a bit o’ danger from both on you, and I don’t suppose Master Scarlett would let any man give me a chop, if he could stop it.”

Sir Godfrey gave his horse a final pat on his fine arching neck, and walked back out of the stall, to stand gazing full at his man, who slipped off his hat, and drew himself up awkwardly in soldierly fashion. Then, without a word, and to Nat’s dismay, he turned to his son.

“Yes,” he said; “take Moorcock, my boy, and the stoutest saddle and bridle you can find.”

Then he walked straight out of the stables, leaving Nat gazing after him in dismay.

“And me with such arms, Master Scar!” he cried, in a protesting tone. “Look here, sir.”

He stripped off his jerkin and rolled his shirt up over his knotted limbs, right to the shoulder, displaying thew and sinew of which a gladiator might have been proud.

“Well, Master Scar, sir, as I’m not to go, I wish I could chop off them two arms, and give ’em to you, for you’d find ’em very useful when you came to fight.”

Just then the stable door was darkened by the figure of Sir Godfrey, who looked in, and said sharply—

“Scarlett, my boy, I have been thinking that over. It would be wise to take Black Adder too, in case one of our steeds breaks down.”

Nat’s ears gave a visible twitch, and seemed to cock towards the speaker, as he continued—

“I’ll leave it in your hands to settle about Nat. You can take him if you wish.”

He walked away, and in an instant Nat was squatting down, and going through what is known to boys as the cobbler’s hornpipe for a few moments, a triumphal terpsichorean performance, which he ended directly, and ran to the wall, ducked down head and hands, till he planted them on the stone floor, and, throwing up his heels, stood upon his head, and tapped the wall with the backs of his boots.

“Nat, come down,” cried Scarlett, laughing. “Why, what does that mean?”

“Mean, sir? Why, I feel as if I could jump out o’ my skin.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a-going along o’ you, and to show my brother Samson as we’ve got some stuff in our family.”

“But I didn’t say that you were to go.”

“No, Master Scar; but you’re going to, aren’t you?”

Scarlett was silent.

“Oh, Master Scar, sir, don’t you run back. Do, do pray take me. Ah, I see a twinkle at the corner of your mouth. You’re only teasing a fellow. I may go, sir?”

“Yes, Nat; and I’m very, very glad.”

Nat startled the horses by throwing his cap to the roof of the stable, and made them tug at their halters, but it did not seem to matter to him, for he caught up a pitchfork, shouldered it, and began to march up and down, shouting rather than singing a snatch of a song he had heard somewhere in the neighbourhood, where the war fever had been catching more men than they knew—

“‘So it’s up with the sword that will fight for the crown,And down with the—down with the—down with the—’

“‘So it’s up with the sword that will fight for the crown,And down with the—down with the—down with the—’

“I say, Master Scar, what comes next?”

“I don’t know at all. But I’ll tell you what must come next.”

“Yes sir.”

“Pack up and be ready for the march to-morrow, and we’ve got to say good-bye.”

“Yes, Master Scar, and glad I’ll be when it’s over, for there’ll be some wet eyes in the Hall, both parlour and kitchen, before we set away.”

Nat was right. There were tears, many and bitter, for master and man that night; and next morning when, after tying a scarf round her son’s shoulder, Lady Markham clung to him passionately, till, with a last hasty kiss to his sister, a final embrace to his mother, Scarlett set spurs to his sturdy horse, and galloped off across the park to where Nat was waiting, and there he drew rein to allow his father to come up.

Sir Godfrey rode fast till he was within about twenty yards, when he signed to them to ride on, and the trio went forward slowly till they were at the top of the slope, where they instinctively turned to take a farewell look at the old Hall and the handkerchiefs waving adieu.

“So peaceful and happy,” said Scarlett to himself; and then, with a curious sensation as of a film being drawn over his eyes, he turned away, pressed his horse’s sides, and when he strained round in the saddle again to look back, it was to see the tops of trees growing about his home, and the moorland spreading away to the sea. Nothing more.

“Hah! I’m glad that’s over, Master Scar,” said Nat, with a sigh of relief as they went gently along the lane which opened upon the high-road lying to west and east, and there crossed it and led on towards the Manor.

They were within twenty yards of the cross-roads, when Nat looked cautiously back, to see if his master was within hearing, and seeing that he was not, he chuckled and said softly—

“Master Scar, sir.”

“Yes,” said Scarlett, starting from a reverie full of recollections about the times he and Fred had traversed that road on very different missions to the present.

“I was just thinking, sir, that I’d give every penny I’ve saved up again I get married, which may happen some day, to see our Samson come shuffling up yonder lane. How he would stare, and how mad he would be, and—”

“Hush, Nat. Look!”

The ex-gardener sat up, round-eyed and as if turned into stone, while the clatter of horse’s hoofs behind told that Sir Godfrey had set spurs to his horse, and was riding on to join them, which he did, drawing rein as they reached the cross-roads, an act duly imitated by the group of three horsemen coming up the lane from the opposite direction, and there at the intersection of the great main western road, the two little parties sat gazing at each other, accident having arranged that master, son, and servant from Hall and Manor should be exactly opposite to each other, gazing in each other’s eyes.

For full a minute no one spoke, and then Thunder, Sir Godfrey’s charger, threw up his noble head and whinnied loudly what might have been taken as a defiance.

“Now, Master Scar,” whispered Nat, “isn’t the master going to give the word. It’s war now, and we can soon do them.”

“Silence!” cried Sir Godfrey, sternly; and then, turning to Colonel Forrester, he raised his plumed Cavalier hat, the colonel responding by lifting the steel morion he wore.

Then it was as if Sir Godfrey’s command had had its effect upon all present, for they gazed straight at each other, Nat and Samson with the look of a couple of angry dogs waiting to be let loose and fight; the two lads in a puzzled manner, as if ready to shake hands, and held back by some invisible chain; and their fathers with a haughty look of anger and disdain.

Sir Godfrey was the first to speak in a stern tone of voice, as he looked straight in Colonel Forrester’s eyes.

“May I ask, sir,” he said, “in which direction you are going?”

“No, sir,” was the calm reply. “You have no right to make such a demand.”

“Then I will address you in a more friendly spirit, Colonel Forrester. The road here to the east leads towards the king’s followers—the gentry of the west who are gathering together beneath his banner to put an end to the disorder and anarchy now running riot through the land. You will, I presume, as a loyal gentleman, join us, and we can ride together.”

“Is this banter or earnest, Sir Godfrey?” replied the colonel, as the two boys sat with their ears tingling.

“Earnest, Colonel Forrester. What other course could I expect an officer to take?”

“Then, if it be in earnest, sir—no; I ride not with you to help to bolster up a tyranny which makes every true man in England blush for his country.”

“Colonel Forrester!”

“Sir Godfrey Markham!”

There was a pause, during which the two old friends gazed defiantly at each other, and then Colonel Forrester continued—

“No, sir; I ride to the west, to join those whom you call the inciters to riot, anarchy, and confusion; but whom we, as true, honest Englishmen, think of as those who are fighting to free our land and to rescue it from the degradation to which it has been brought. Let me entreat you, sir, as a gentleman, to think twice before you take the road to the east, for the way is open still to the west. Ride with us, Sir Godfrey. So old and gallant a soldier would be most welcome to our ranks.”

“And a traitor to the king, whose commission I hold, and whose uniform I shall once again wear.”

“Traitor!” said Colonel Forrester, starting, and his hand darted to the hilt of his sword; but he drew it back with a hasty “Pish!”

“Yes, sir, traitor, as you seem disposed to prove; but I warn you in time. The king will prove the master over the wretched band of anarchists who have risen against him.”

“Enough!” said Colonel Forrester. “That has to be proved.”

“Proved or no, sir, I command you to ride with me or to return to your home. You are in arms against the king, the government, and the law of this land. Surrender!”

“Sir Godfrey, too much commanding of slaves to your wishes has rendered you absurd of speech.”

“Do you hear me, sir?” cried Sir Godfrey. “I order you to follow me.”

Colonel Forrester’s hand went again to his sword, but he snatched it back.

“I cannot answer your intemperate words, Sir Godfrey,” he said; “and I will not presume to utter so vain a command to you. This is free England, sir, where every man who dares to think, thinks according to his belief. We have been old friends; our boys have grown up together as brothers, but the exigencies of our political faith sunder us widely apart. Ride you your way, sir, and I pray you let me go mine; and may our ways be farther and farther separated, so that we may never meet again till it is in peace.”

As he spoke, he turned his horse, and rode slowly away down the western road, leaving Sir Godfrey chafing angrily, and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword, as he sat gazing after his old friend calmly ignoring his presence, and followed by his son and his serving-man.

“I ought to arrest him—a man openly in arms against the law; an enemy to his majesty, who may work him terrible ill. But I cannot do it; I cannot do it. Old friends—brothers; our wives who have been as sisters.”

He paused for a few moments, gazing after the retiring figures, and then jerked his horse round so sharply that the poor beast reared.

“Left! Forward!” cried Sir Godfrey then, and he rode on to the east, followed at a short distance by Nat and his son.

Before they had gone a dozen yards, Nat, who was fidgeting about in his saddle, evidently in a state of considerable mental perturbation, wrenched himself round and looked after the Manor people, to see that Samson was waiting for him to do so; and as soon as he did look, it was to see a derisive threatening gesture, Samson, by pantomime, suggesting that if he only had his brother’s head under his arm, he would punch his nose till he made it bleed.

“Ur–r–r–r!” snarled Nat, with a growl like that of an irritated dog.

“What’s the matter, Nat?”

“Matter, sir? See that Samson—ah, he’s a rank bad ’un—shaking his fist at me, and pretending to punch me? Here, I must go and give it him now.”

“No, no,” cried Scar, catching at Black Adder’s rein. “Your orders are to follow your colonel.”

“But are we to let that brother of mine insult his majesty’s troops?”

“We can afford to treat it with contempt,” said Scarlett, solemnly, though Nat’s words and allusions made him feel disposed to laugh.

“But I want to treat it to a big leathering, Master Scar. Here, sir, mayn’t I ride after him and fetch him off his horse?”

“No; certainly not.”

“But, Master Scar, what could your father be thinking of? Here had we got three of the ugliest Philistines in Coombeland in our hand, and we’ve let ’em go to blight and freeze and blast everything. What could Sir Godfrey be thinking about?”

“Nat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know what is a soldier’s first duty?”

“To fight, sir.”

“No: to obey orders.”

“But we aren’t soldiers yet.”

“I think we are; so be silent.”

“Yes, sir; but if I only had leave, I’d draw my sword, gallop after that bad brother of mine, and fetch him off his horse, or jackass, or whatever the miserable beast is that he has his legs across.”

“And kill him? Your own brother?”

“Kill him? Not I, sir. He arn’t worth it. No; I’d take him prisoner, nearly knock his head off, and then I’d tie his hands to the tail of my horse, and drag him to the king’s camp in triumph.”

Scarlett made no answer, for he had no faith in his servant’s threats; and together they rode on and on after Sir Godfrey, over the pleasant moor, and on to the cultivated lands, and then on and on still into the darkness, which seemed, as it thickened, like the gross darkness of war and destruction, sweeping down upon the fair and sunny west.

So thought Scarlett Markham, as he still rode on through the darkness, and then his thoughts returned to home, and his mother’s attitude as she flung herself upon her knees, her clasped hands toward heaven, as she uttered a prayer for the protection of those she loved.

Sir Godfrey made no sign. He merely turned from time to time to see if those he led were close behind, and then rode slowly on to join those whose hands were raised against their brothers—father and sons to plunge into the terrible warfare, which, once begun, seemed to know no end.

Chapter Fourteen.Warlike Experiences.A year rapidly passed away, during which, young and slight as they were, Scarlett Markham and Fred Forrester seemed to have changed into boyish young men. The excitement of a soldier’s life had forced them on, and with great rapidity they had mastered the various matters of discipline then known to the army. Sir Godfrey and Colonel Forrester were received by the opposing factions with delight, their old military knowledge making them invaluable, and they were at once placed in command of regiments of horse, newly raised, and whose training caused them immense effort.But the men were of splendid material, and before long Forrester’s and Markham’s Horse were looked upon with respect; soon after with envy.In these two regiments the boys from Coombeland served six months as ordinary soldiers, till, partly for their ability, partly from the dash they had shown, they were nominally raised to the rank of officers, the men of their troops willingly following the lead of the brave boys who rode with them into dangers many enough.For, in those stern times, no father could spare his son. Those who elected to serve had to run all risks, and the consequence was that on either side the making of a good fighting army took but little time.“It do me good to see you, Master Scar,” Nat used to say, as he rode always at his young master’s heels. “Think of a boy like you being an orficer!”“A very poor one, Nat.”“Nay, Master Scar, I don’t know another in the regiment the men would sooner follow.”Equality of situation brings similarity of remark, and it was in like words that Samson, after a tirade about his unnatural brother for fighting against him, would address his young master from the Manor.And so another six months passed away, with the war-tide setting here and there on the borders of Coombeland, but never spreading its devastating influence there. The two lads grew more and more imbued with the war-faith of their parties, and as they became sturdier and more manly, hardened as they were by the rough, open air life they led, a feeling of bitterness foreign to their natures rapidly increased, till they were ready to speak with hate and contempt of the enemy they blamed for destroying the peace of the land.And all this time, to Fred and Scar, home was becoming rapidly a memory. By the merest chances, they heard that all was well, and, compelled to be content with this scanty news, they plunged into their work again, till the roar of cannon and clash of steel became familiar as were the terrors of the scene of some desperate fight, such as modern soldiers would speak of as a desultory skirmish.Eighteen months with the army, and, in spite of exposure, neither of the Coombeland lads had met, or, as far as they knew, been near each other, and neither of the two little parties from Hall and Manor had met with a wound.But sterner times were near at hand. After much desultory fighting, the Parliamentary forces were mustering strongly in the far west, and those of the king had made Bristol a stronghold, and were moving on.There were two leaders of opposing ideas, who prayed that the war might not sweep their way, but, as they prayed, they felt that the prayer was vain, and their brows grew rugged as they read how surely what they dreaded must follow, and felt how likely a battle-ground the moor would prove in the neighbourhood of their peaceful homes.The little petty encounters kept on day after day, week after week, as if each side was practising its men and trying their strength for some great fight to come, and all the while, round and about Barnstaple and away toward Exeter, the forces were gathering, till all at once, when least expected, scouts came in from east and west with news that told of a probable encounter, perhaps before another sun had set.Those who knew best, however, were not so sanguine till after that sun had set, and among those was General Hedley, who gradually and cautiously advanced, feeling his way step by step, each step being a natural stronghold, which would help him against the dashing onslaughts of Charles’s cavaliers.But forty-eight hours had not elapsed before the rival forces were face to face, when a little skirmishing took place, and then darkness put an end to the varied encounters, the combatants waiting for daylight, when a battle was bound to ensue. This fight must inevitably prove serious to one or the other side, and either the Parliamentarian forces would be driven back into the far west, where their scattered strength could be quenched as the remains of a fire are beaten out, or else the king’s men would be driven towards Exeter, after what must prove a deadly blow.That night the occupants of Hall and Manor lay down to sleep within hearing of the sentinels of each army, and the two lads, worn out with fatigue, slept heavily, to dream of the homes they were so near—dreams full of trouble and anxiety, as they seemed to see the sweet faces of those they loved anxiously listening to the roar of gun and clash of sword, and wondering what was to be their fate and where they could flee if matters came to the worst.A trumpet roused Scarlett Markham from his dream of home. The deep roll of drums awakened Fred, and as daylight came, and the larks sprang from the dewy moor to carol high in the soft, grey, gold flecked sky, there was the trampling of men and the snorting of horses, and then the first gun belched forth its destroying message against the advancing forces of the king.Needless to tell of that fight of brother against brother with the horrors of the field. Hour after hour went by, hours of manoeuvring and change of front, and always with the king’s men gaining ground, and driving back the Parliamentarians, whose position seemed to be growing desperate. And as the Royalist leaders saw their advantage, they grew more reckless, and urged their men on, till it seemed as if a dozen lesser fights were in progress, the grim men of the Commonwealth fighting hard to hold their own.This went on till the afternoon, when, in their exhaustion, the king’s men paused almost with wonder at the stubborn front still presented to their steel.“It is their last despairing stand,” said the Royalist general to himself, and he gathered his men for a final advance upon the low hill crowned by the enemy.The advance was made by men wearied out, against those who had not done half the marching and counter-marching, and as they swept on, they saw the change in the front for which they had looked so long—at first with triumph, then with despair. For now General Hedley sent forward his grim squadrons, held so long in reserve, and, raging with their long inaction, they dashed down the slope like a thunderbolt which met the Cavaliers half-way, broke through them, rode them down, and before the two parts into which they were divided could recover in the slightest degree, from the right and left flanks fresh squadrons broke down upon them, and in five minutes the imaginary triumph had become a rout.The king’s banner that day lay low, the royal standard trailing in the dust, as a wild shout of victory was raised by the soldiers of the Parliament, and the gaily caparisoned Cavaliers in bitter despair fled broken and in disorder for their lives.“Oh, evil fortune!” groaned Sir Godfrey, as he reluctantly galloped away beside his son, their jaded horses going heavily, with heaving flanks. “Quick, my boy, quick!”“Oh, father,” cried Scarlett, “and we are galloping away from home.”

A year rapidly passed away, during which, young and slight as they were, Scarlett Markham and Fred Forrester seemed to have changed into boyish young men. The excitement of a soldier’s life had forced them on, and with great rapidity they had mastered the various matters of discipline then known to the army. Sir Godfrey and Colonel Forrester were received by the opposing factions with delight, their old military knowledge making them invaluable, and they were at once placed in command of regiments of horse, newly raised, and whose training caused them immense effort.

But the men were of splendid material, and before long Forrester’s and Markham’s Horse were looked upon with respect; soon after with envy.

In these two regiments the boys from Coombeland served six months as ordinary soldiers, till, partly for their ability, partly from the dash they had shown, they were nominally raised to the rank of officers, the men of their troops willingly following the lead of the brave boys who rode with them into dangers many enough.

For, in those stern times, no father could spare his son. Those who elected to serve had to run all risks, and the consequence was that on either side the making of a good fighting army took but little time.

“It do me good to see you, Master Scar,” Nat used to say, as he rode always at his young master’s heels. “Think of a boy like you being an orficer!”

“A very poor one, Nat.”

“Nay, Master Scar, I don’t know another in the regiment the men would sooner follow.”

Equality of situation brings similarity of remark, and it was in like words that Samson, after a tirade about his unnatural brother for fighting against him, would address his young master from the Manor.

And so another six months passed away, with the war-tide setting here and there on the borders of Coombeland, but never spreading its devastating influence there. The two lads grew more and more imbued with the war-faith of their parties, and as they became sturdier and more manly, hardened as they were by the rough, open air life they led, a feeling of bitterness foreign to their natures rapidly increased, till they were ready to speak with hate and contempt of the enemy they blamed for destroying the peace of the land.

And all this time, to Fred and Scar, home was becoming rapidly a memory. By the merest chances, they heard that all was well, and, compelled to be content with this scanty news, they plunged into their work again, till the roar of cannon and clash of steel became familiar as were the terrors of the scene of some desperate fight, such as modern soldiers would speak of as a desultory skirmish.

Eighteen months with the army, and, in spite of exposure, neither of the Coombeland lads had met, or, as far as they knew, been near each other, and neither of the two little parties from Hall and Manor had met with a wound.

But sterner times were near at hand. After much desultory fighting, the Parliamentary forces were mustering strongly in the far west, and those of the king had made Bristol a stronghold, and were moving on.

There were two leaders of opposing ideas, who prayed that the war might not sweep their way, but, as they prayed, they felt that the prayer was vain, and their brows grew rugged as they read how surely what they dreaded must follow, and felt how likely a battle-ground the moor would prove in the neighbourhood of their peaceful homes.

The little petty encounters kept on day after day, week after week, as if each side was practising its men and trying their strength for some great fight to come, and all the while, round and about Barnstaple and away toward Exeter, the forces were gathering, till all at once, when least expected, scouts came in from east and west with news that told of a probable encounter, perhaps before another sun had set.

Those who knew best, however, were not so sanguine till after that sun had set, and among those was General Hedley, who gradually and cautiously advanced, feeling his way step by step, each step being a natural stronghold, which would help him against the dashing onslaughts of Charles’s cavaliers.

But forty-eight hours had not elapsed before the rival forces were face to face, when a little skirmishing took place, and then darkness put an end to the varied encounters, the combatants waiting for daylight, when a battle was bound to ensue. This fight must inevitably prove serious to one or the other side, and either the Parliamentarian forces would be driven back into the far west, where their scattered strength could be quenched as the remains of a fire are beaten out, or else the king’s men would be driven towards Exeter, after what must prove a deadly blow.

That night the occupants of Hall and Manor lay down to sleep within hearing of the sentinels of each army, and the two lads, worn out with fatigue, slept heavily, to dream of the homes they were so near—dreams full of trouble and anxiety, as they seemed to see the sweet faces of those they loved anxiously listening to the roar of gun and clash of sword, and wondering what was to be their fate and where they could flee if matters came to the worst.

A trumpet roused Scarlett Markham from his dream of home. The deep roll of drums awakened Fred, and as daylight came, and the larks sprang from the dewy moor to carol high in the soft, grey, gold flecked sky, there was the trampling of men and the snorting of horses, and then the first gun belched forth its destroying message against the advancing forces of the king.

Needless to tell of that fight of brother against brother with the horrors of the field. Hour after hour went by, hours of manoeuvring and change of front, and always with the king’s men gaining ground, and driving back the Parliamentarians, whose position seemed to be growing desperate. And as the Royalist leaders saw their advantage, they grew more reckless, and urged their men on, till it seemed as if a dozen lesser fights were in progress, the grim men of the Commonwealth fighting hard to hold their own.

This went on till the afternoon, when, in their exhaustion, the king’s men paused almost with wonder at the stubborn front still presented to their steel.

“It is their last despairing stand,” said the Royalist general to himself, and he gathered his men for a final advance upon the low hill crowned by the enemy.

The advance was made by men wearied out, against those who had not done half the marching and counter-marching, and as they swept on, they saw the change in the front for which they had looked so long—at first with triumph, then with despair. For now General Hedley sent forward his grim squadrons, held so long in reserve, and, raging with their long inaction, they dashed down the slope like a thunderbolt which met the Cavaliers half-way, broke through them, rode them down, and before the two parts into which they were divided could recover in the slightest degree, from the right and left flanks fresh squadrons broke down upon them, and in five minutes the imaginary triumph had become a rout.

The king’s banner that day lay low, the royal standard trailing in the dust, as a wild shout of victory was raised by the soldiers of the Parliament, and the gaily caparisoned Cavaliers in bitter despair fled broken and in disorder for their lives.

“Oh, evil fortune!” groaned Sir Godfrey, as he reluctantly galloped away beside his son, their jaded horses going heavily, with heaving flanks. “Quick, my boy, quick!”

“Oh, father,” cried Scarlett, “and we are galloping away from home.”

Chapter Fifteen.Fred Forrester’s Prisoner.Wild nearly with excitement, Fred Forrester kept his place in the ranks of his father’s regiment all through that busy day of advance, retreat, and skirmish; but the Forresters were held in reserve during the final charge which resulted in the scattering of the king’s forces before the warriors of the Parliament.The day was won, and pursuit was going on in all directions; but the main body of the Parliamentarians were camping for the night, and tents were being set up, the wounded brought in, and strong parties engaged in burying the dead, while, as troop after troop returned with batches of prisoners, these were placed under guard, after being carefully disarmed.The Forresters had dismounted at the edge of a beautiful, grove-like patch of timber at the foot of a hill. A stream of pure water babbled among the rocks, and, as the soft summer evening came slowly on, the grim, warlike aspect of the scene seemed to die out, and the smoke of the camp-fires, the pennons fluttering in the evening breeze, and the glinting of breastplate and morion formed a picture against the background of green, which might from a distance have been taken for one of peace.Fred had dismounted, and, after taking off his heavy morion, which he would never own was too big and uncomfortable to a degree, hung it from the pommel of his saddle, while he patted and made much of his horse, unbuckling the bit, and leading the handsome beast to where it could make a meal from the soft, green grass.“Poor old lad!” he said; “you must be nearly tired out.”The horse whinnied, and began feeding at once, while, after watching the men making their preparations for the bivouac, Fred was about to throw himself down, being too weary after his many hours in the saddle to care for food, when his father rode up, followed by a couple of the officers.“Ah, Fred, my boy,” he cried; “that’s right: take care of your horse. There will be some supper ready in about half an hour. A glorious day, my boy, a glorious day; and I’m proud of the way you behaved!”“Are you, father,” said Fred, sadly. “I don’t think I have done much.”“You have done all I could wish to see you do. But, there, I must go and see after our men. Come up to my quarters soon, and eat, and then lie down and sleep. I may want you before long.”“To go on guard, sir?”“No; for any little duty—to take charge of prisoners, perhaps. Where is Samson?”“Gone, father.”“What? Not killed?”“I hope not, father; but after that gallop, when we last changed front, I missed him, and, though we have searched, we can’t find him. I’m afraid the enemy carried him off.”“Poor lad! A brave fellow, Fred. There, I must go.”“Shall I come with you now, father?”“No; lie down and rest till the meal is ready.”Colonel Forrester rode off with his followers, and his son walked wearily to where his horse was feeding, and led it where it could have a hearty drink of the pure water. Then, having turned it loose again, he threw himself down, and lay gazing at the sunlit scene, wishing that the war was over, and that he could go back to the dear old manor house, and enjoy the pleasures of home and peace.How beautiful it all looked, the golden sunshine glorifying the oak-trees with their tender leaves, and turning the pine trunks bronze-red! The films of wood smoke from the camp-fires spread in a pale blue vapour, and the babbling stream flashed. But, restful as the scene was, and pleasant as the reclining posture was to his aching bones, Fred did not feel happy, for he knew that not far away men were lying in fever and weariness, cut, stabbed, trampled by horse hoof, and shattered by bullet, many of them waiting anxiously for death, the same death that had come upon so many of their fellows, who were lying stark on the field, or being hastily laid in rows in their shallow grave.“When will it all be over?” he said to himself. “I wonder where Scar is;” and then he thought how horrible it would be if ever he were to meet his old friend in action.“And him with a sword in his hand and me with a sword in mine,” he muttered. “Should we fight? I suppose so,” he added, after a few moments’ thought. “We are enemies now.”He started up on his elbow, for just then there was a cheer, in salutation of a man who was coming slowly up, leading his horse; and it only needed a second glance to show that it was Samson.Fred forgot his weariness, sprang up, and ran toward his follower, who caught sight of him directly, and hastened to meet him.“Oh!” ejaculated Fred, as he drew nearer and caught sight of the man’s face. “What a horrible wound! Samson, lad, we thought you a prisoner, or dead.”“I arn’t a prisoner, because I’m here,” grumbled Samson; “and I arn’t dead yet, thank ye, Master Fred.”“But your wound. Come on to the surgeon at once.”“My wound, sir?”“Yes. Your face looks terrible. How did you manage to get here?”“Face looks terrible—manage to get here! I’ll tell you, sir. A big fellow with a broad grey hat and feathers, and all long hair and ragged lace, spurred at me, and, if I hadn’t been tidy sharpish, he’d have rode me down. Hit at me, too, he did, with his sword, and caught me on the shoulder, but it didn’t cut through the leather; and, ’fore he could get another cut at me, I give him a wipe on the head as made him rise up in his sterrups and hit at me with his fist.”“His fist, Samson?”“Yes, sir. There was his sword in it, of course, and the pommel hit me right on the nose; and before I could get over it, he was off along with the rest, full gallop, and I was sitting on the ground, thinking about my mother and what a mess I was in, and my horse looking as if he was ashamed of me, as I was of myself. I wonder he didn’t gallop off, too; but I s’pose he thought he wouldn’t get a better master.”“But your face, Samson? It looks horrid.”“Well, I can’t help that, Master Fred, can I? Didn’t make my own face. Good enough to come and fight with.”“Come along with me to the surgeon.”“What, and leave my horse? Not I, sir.”“A man’s wounds are of more consequence than a horse.”“Who says so? I think a mortal deal more o’ my horse than I do o’ my wounds. ’Sides I arn’t got no wounds.”“You have, and don’t know it. You have quite a mask of blood on your face. It is hideous.”“Yah! that’s nothing. It’s my nose. It always was a one to bleed. Whenever that brother o’ mine, who went to grief and soldiering, used to make me smell his fist, my nose always bled, and his fist was quite as hard as that hard-riding R’y’list chap’s. Called me a Roundhead dog, too, he did, as he hit me. If I’d caught him, I’d ha’ rounded his head for him.”“Yes, yes, of course, Samson; but come down to the stream, and bathe your face. Your horse is grazing now.”“You’re getting too vain and partic’lar, Master Fred,” grumbled Samson. “You’re thinking of looking nice, like the R’y’lists, when you ought to be proud of a little blood shed in the good cause.”“I am proud and ready too, Samson; but come and wash your face.”“I’ll come,” grumbled Samson; “and I never kears about washing myself now. Never a drop o’ hot water, no towels, no soap, and no well, and no buckets. Once a week seems quite enough, specially as you has to wait till you get dry.”By a little persuasion, Samson was led to the stream, where he knelt down and bathed his face, looking up to his master from time to time to ask if that was better, the final result being that, beyond a little swelling on one side, Samson’s nose was none the worse for the encounter.“There!” he cried at last; “I suppose that will do, sir.”“Yes, my lad, and I’m very, very glad you have escaped so well.”“Oh, I’ve ’scaped well enough, Master Fred; deal better than I deserved. We’re a wicked, bad, good-for-nothing family. Look at our Nat, fighting against his own brother.”“It is very sad, Samson,” said Fred; “but, remember, you are fighting against him.”“That I arn’t, sir. It’s him fighting against me, and I only wish I may run against him some day. I’d make him so sore that he’ll lie down and howl for his mother, poor soul, and she breaking her heart about him turning out so badly; and, I say, Master Fred, if I don’t have something to eat, I shall be only fit to bury to-morrow.”“Come with me, Samson; I’m going up to my father’s quarters. I’ll see that you have plenty to eat, if there is anything.”“Who’d be without a good master?” muttered Samson; and then aloud, “Here he comes.”For Colonel Forrester came cantering up.“Alive and well, Samson? Good lad! We couldn’t spare you. Fred, my boy, news has come in that a little party of the enemy has taken shelter in the woodland yonder over the hill. Take a dozen men, surround them, and bring them in. Don’t let one of them escape. Turned back by one of the regiments crossing their path as they were in retreat. Now, then, to horse and away!”Burning with excitement, Fred forgot all his weariness, buckled his horse’s bit, mounted, and turned to select his men, when he found Samson already mounted, and at his elbow.“Here, what do you want, sir?” he cried.“What do I want, Master Fred? Why, to go with you.”“Nonsense! You are fagged out. Go and rest, and your horse too.”“Now, I do call that likely, Master Fred. Let you go without me. I should just think not.”“But this is nonsense, Samson. I want fresh men.”“Just what I thought, sir. Nonsense for you to go without me, and you don’t want no fresh men. You want me, and I’m coming—there!”Fred had neither time nor inclination to combat his follower’s desire; in fact, he was rather glad to have the sturdy, west-country man at his elbow, so he rode up to the main portion of the regiment, selected eleven out of a hundred who wanted to go with the young officer, and rode off at a moderate trot across country, forded the stream, and then, bearing away from the woodland, made as if to leave it on his right, so as not to excite suspicion in case they were seen. But just as he was well opposite, he gave an order, the men divided in two parties, and set off at a gallop to surround the trees, the mounted men halting at about a hundred yards apart, and waiting for the signal to advance.The manoeuvre was soon executed, and the circle moved steadily toward the centre of the park-like patch of ground, so open that as the ring grew smaller there was not the slightest prospect of any of the enemy breaking through unseen.Fred, in his anxiety to carry out his father’s commands successfully, had remained at the foot of the wooded slope, Samson being on his right and another trustworthy fellow on his left, for he felt sure that those of whom they were in search would break out in his direction. In fact, he sat there waiting for his men to drive the intended prisoners down for him to take.The task was not long, for the tramping of horses was heard, and the rustling and crackling of the undergrowth; but the enemy did not break cover.At last, though, there was a rush and the clash of steel, and, with his heart throbbing, the lad signed to his nearest men to close up, and they advanced together, then set spur to their horses, and made a dash for a clump of bushes, where three horsemen were striving to get out through the tangle; and as they reached them Fred uttered an exclamation full of anger.“Look at that!” cried Samson. “Why, they’re our own men.”Fred uttered an impatient cry.“Couldn’t you see them?” he said to the first man who struggled out of the bushes.“No, sir; nobody there.”“Then you must have missed them, and they are there now.”“We searched the place well,” said another man; and one by one, as the party closed up, they told the same tale.“Father was deceived,” thought Fred; and the more readily, that it was not the first example by many of pieces of false news brought in by spies.“Here!” he cried aloud, “we’ll all ride through again. Ah! look yonder. Forward! Gallop!” he shouted; and, setting spurs to his horse, he dashed off, followed by his men, for there, a quarter of a mile to the left, was a little party of six horsemen stealing along a narrow coombe, after evading their pursuers in some way.They were well in view as Fred emerged from the wooded land, and were evidently spurring hard to escape, and for the next quarter of an hour the chances seemed even, for the distance was maintained, and each party kept well together; but after that the pace began to tell, and horse and man tailed off till both parties seemed to be straggling over the ground, the better-mounted to the front, the worse hanging behind.It was soon evident that the pursuers’ horses were far fresher than those of the Royalists; and after shouting to his men to come on, Fred raced forward, with Samson close behind, and after a headlong gallop of about ten minutes, the young leader had overtaken the hindmost horseman, who was standing in his stirrups, his morion close down over his eyes, his back up, and apparently blind to everything that was before him as well as behind.“Have him, Samson, lad,” cried Fred, as he spurred on past this fugitive to try and overtake the leader, a young-looking man in showy cavalier hat and feathers, who kept on turning in his saddle and encouraging his men to fresh exertions.The next minute, as they thundered along, Samson rode straight at the man with the morion over his eyes, but before he could reach him the fugitive’s horse made a poor attempt to clear a bush in his way, stumbled, fell headlong, and shot his rider half a dozen yards in front.“Prisoners; and don’t hurt them,” shouted Fred, waving his sword, and his men gave an answering yell. So did the pursued, for no sooner did the young leader discover that one of his men was down than he checked his horse, held up his sword for the others to rally round him, and turned at once on the party headed by Fred.It was a gallant attempt, but useless. Their horses were spent, and as they were checked before they could make any effective stand, Fred’s party literally sprung at them. There was a sharp shock; the exchange of a few blows, and it was all over, the little party being literally ridden down, their leader going over, horse and all, at Fred’s charge.The young Cavalier struggled free from his fallen horse, and tried to drag a pistol from the holster at his saddle-bow, for his sword had flown a dozen yards away among the bushes; but Fred had him by the neck directly, his hand well inside the steel gorget he wore, and in one breath he shouted, as he held his sword at his breast, “Surrender!” and then, “Scar Markham! You!”“Yes. Give up, my lads,” cried the prisoner. “We’ve done all we could. Let the crop-ears have a few prisoners for once in a way.”

Wild nearly with excitement, Fred Forrester kept his place in the ranks of his father’s regiment all through that busy day of advance, retreat, and skirmish; but the Forresters were held in reserve during the final charge which resulted in the scattering of the king’s forces before the warriors of the Parliament.

The day was won, and pursuit was going on in all directions; but the main body of the Parliamentarians were camping for the night, and tents were being set up, the wounded brought in, and strong parties engaged in burying the dead, while, as troop after troop returned with batches of prisoners, these were placed under guard, after being carefully disarmed.

The Forresters had dismounted at the edge of a beautiful, grove-like patch of timber at the foot of a hill. A stream of pure water babbled among the rocks, and, as the soft summer evening came slowly on, the grim, warlike aspect of the scene seemed to die out, and the smoke of the camp-fires, the pennons fluttering in the evening breeze, and the glinting of breastplate and morion formed a picture against the background of green, which might from a distance have been taken for one of peace.

Fred had dismounted, and, after taking off his heavy morion, which he would never own was too big and uncomfortable to a degree, hung it from the pommel of his saddle, while he patted and made much of his horse, unbuckling the bit, and leading the handsome beast to where it could make a meal from the soft, green grass.

“Poor old lad!” he said; “you must be nearly tired out.”

The horse whinnied, and began feeding at once, while, after watching the men making their preparations for the bivouac, Fred was about to throw himself down, being too weary after his many hours in the saddle to care for food, when his father rode up, followed by a couple of the officers.

“Ah, Fred, my boy,” he cried; “that’s right: take care of your horse. There will be some supper ready in about half an hour. A glorious day, my boy, a glorious day; and I’m proud of the way you behaved!”

“Are you, father,” said Fred, sadly. “I don’t think I have done much.”

“You have done all I could wish to see you do. But, there, I must go and see after our men. Come up to my quarters soon, and eat, and then lie down and sleep. I may want you before long.”

“To go on guard, sir?”

“No; for any little duty—to take charge of prisoners, perhaps. Where is Samson?”

“Gone, father.”

“What? Not killed?”

“I hope not, father; but after that gallop, when we last changed front, I missed him, and, though we have searched, we can’t find him. I’m afraid the enemy carried him off.”

“Poor lad! A brave fellow, Fred. There, I must go.”

“Shall I come with you now, father?”

“No; lie down and rest till the meal is ready.”

Colonel Forrester rode off with his followers, and his son walked wearily to where his horse was feeding, and led it where it could have a hearty drink of the pure water. Then, having turned it loose again, he threw himself down, and lay gazing at the sunlit scene, wishing that the war was over, and that he could go back to the dear old manor house, and enjoy the pleasures of home and peace.

How beautiful it all looked, the golden sunshine glorifying the oak-trees with their tender leaves, and turning the pine trunks bronze-red! The films of wood smoke from the camp-fires spread in a pale blue vapour, and the babbling stream flashed. But, restful as the scene was, and pleasant as the reclining posture was to his aching bones, Fred did not feel happy, for he knew that not far away men were lying in fever and weariness, cut, stabbed, trampled by horse hoof, and shattered by bullet, many of them waiting anxiously for death, the same death that had come upon so many of their fellows, who were lying stark on the field, or being hastily laid in rows in their shallow grave.

“When will it all be over?” he said to himself. “I wonder where Scar is;” and then he thought how horrible it would be if ever he were to meet his old friend in action.

“And him with a sword in his hand and me with a sword in mine,” he muttered. “Should we fight? I suppose so,” he added, after a few moments’ thought. “We are enemies now.”

He started up on his elbow, for just then there was a cheer, in salutation of a man who was coming slowly up, leading his horse; and it only needed a second glance to show that it was Samson.

Fred forgot his weariness, sprang up, and ran toward his follower, who caught sight of him directly, and hastened to meet him.

“Oh!” ejaculated Fred, as he drew nearer and caught sight of the man’s face. “What a horrible wound! Samson, lad, we thought you a prisoner, or dead.”

“I arn’t a prisoner, because I’m here,” grumbled Samson; “and I arn’t dead yet, thank ye, Master Fred.”

“But your wound. Come on to the surgeon at once.”

“My wound, sir?”

“Yes. Your face looks terrible. How did you manage to get here?”

“Face looks terrible—manage to get here! I’ll tell you, sir. A big fellow with a broad grey hat and feathers, and all long hair and ragged lace, spurred at me, and, if I hadn’t been tidy sharpish, he’d have rode me down. Hit at me, too, he did, with his sword, and caught me on the shoulder, but it didn’t cut through the leather; and, ’fore he could get another cut at me, I give him a wipe on the head as made him rise up in his sterrups and hit at me with his fist.”

“His fist, Samson?”

“Yes, sir. There was his sword in it, of course, and the pommel hit me right on the nose; and before I could get over it, he was off along with the rest, full gallop, and I was sitting on the ground, thinking about my mother and what a mess I was in, and my horse looking as if he was ashamed of me, as I was of myself. I wonder he didn’t gallop off, too; but I s’pose he thought he wouldn’t get a better master.”

“But your face, Samson? It looks horrid.”

“Well, I can’t help that, Master Fred, can I? Didn’t make my own face. Good enough to come and fight with.”

“Come along with me to the surgeon.”

“What, and leave my horse? Not I, sir.”

“A man’s wounds are of more consequence than a horse.”

“Who says so? I think a mortal deal more o’ my horse than I do o’ my wounds. ’Sides I arn’t got no wounds.”

“You have, and don’t know it. You have quite a mask of blood on your face. It is hideous.”

“Yah! that’s nothing. It’s my nose. It always was a one to bleed. Whenever that brother o’ mine, who went to grief and soldiering, used to make me smell his fist, my nose always bled, and his fist was quite as hard as that hard-riding R’y’list chap’s. Called me a Roundhead dog, too, he did, as he hit me. If I’d caught him, I’d ha’ rounded his head for him.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Samson; but come down to the stream, and bathe your face. Your horse is grazing now.”

“You’re getting too vain and partic’lar, Master Fred,” grumbled Samson. “You’re thinking of looking nice, like the R’y’lists, when you ought to be proud of a little blood shed in the good cause.”

“I am proud and ready too, Samson; but come and wash your face.”

“I’ll come,” grumbled Samson; “and I never kears about washing myself now. Never a drop o’ hot water, no towels, no soap, and no well, and no buckets. Once a week seems quite enough, specially as you has to wait till you get dry.”

By a little persuasion, Samson was led to the stream, where he knelt down and bathed his face, looking up to his master from time to time to ask if that was better, the final result being that, beyond a little swelling on one side, Samson’s nose was none the worse for the encounter.

“There!” he cried at last; “I suppose that will do, sir.”

“Yes, my lad, and I’m very, very glad you have escaped so well.”

“Oh, I’ve ’scaped well enough, Master Fred; deal better than I deserved. We’re a wicked, bad, good-for-nothing family. Look at our Nat, fighting against his own brother.”

“It is very sad, Samson,” said Fred; “but, remember, you are fighting against him.”

“That I arn’t, sir. It’s him fighting against me, and I only wish I may run against him some day. I’d make him so sore that he’ll lie down and howl for his mother, poor soul, and she breaking her heart about him turning out so badly; and, I say, Master Fred, if I don’t have something to eat, I shall be only fit to bury to-morrow.”

“Come with me, Samson; I’m going up to my father’s quarters. I’ll see that you have plenty to eat, if there is anything.”

“Who’d be without a good master?” muttered Samson; and then aloud, “Here he comes.”

For Colonel Forrester came cantering up.

“Alive and well, Samson? Good lad! We couldn’t spare you. Fred, my boy, news has come in that a little party of the enemy has taken shelter in the woodland yonder over the hill. Take a dozen men, surround them, and bring them in. Don’t let one of them escape. Turned back by one of the regiments crossing their path as they were in retreat. Now, then, to horse and away!”

Burning with excitement, Fred forgot all his weariness, buckled his horse’s bit, mounted, and turned to select his men, when he found Samson already mounted, and at his elbow.

“Here, what do you want, sir?” he cried.

“What do I want, Master Fred? Why, to go with you.”

“Nonsense! You are fagged out. Go and rest, and your horse too.”

“Now, I do call that likely, Master Fred. Let you go without me. I should just think not.”

“But this is nonsense, Samson. I want fresh men.”

“Just what I thought, sir. Nonsense for you to go without me, and you don’t want no fresh men. You want me, and I’m coming—there!”

Fred had neither time nor inclination to combat his follower’s desire; in fact, he was rather glad to have the sturdy, west-country man at his elbow, so he rode up to the main portion of the regiment, selected eleven out of a hundred who wanted to go with the young officer, and rode off at a moderate trot across country, forded the stream, and then, bearing away from the woodland, made as if to leave it on his right, so as not to excite suspicion in case they were seen. But just as he was well opposite, he gave an order, the men divided in two parties, and set off at a gallop to surround the trees, the mounted men halting at about a hundred yards apart, and waiting for the signal to advance.

The manoeuvre was soon executed, and the circle moved steadily toward the centre of the park-like patch of ground, so open that as the ring grew smaller there was not the slightest prospect of any of the enemy breaking through unseen.

Fred, in his anxiety to carry out his father’s commands successfully, had remained at the foot of the wooded slope, Samson being on his right and another trustworthy fellow on his left, for he felt sure that those of whom they were in search would break out in his direction. In fact, he sat there waiting for his men to drive the intended prisoners down for him to take.

The task was not long, for the tramping of horses was heard, and the rustling and crackling of the undergrowth; but the enemy did not break cover.

At last, though, there was a rush and the clash of steel, and, with his heart throbbing, the lad signed to his nearest men to close up, and they advanced together, then set spur to their horses, and made a dash for a clump of bushes, where three horsemen were striving to get out through the tangle; and as they reached them Fred uttered an exclamation full of anger.

“Look at that!” cried Samson. “Why, they’re our own men.”

Fred uttered an impatient cry.

“Couldn’t you see them?” he said to the first man who struggled out of the bushes.

“No, sir; nobody there.”

“Then you must have missed them, and they are there now.”

“We searched the place well,” said another man; and one by one, as the party closed up, they told the same tale.

“Father was deceived,” thought Fred; and the more readily, that it was not the first example by many of pieces of false news brought in by spies.

“Here!” he cried aloud, “we’ll all ride through again. Ah! look yonder. Forward! Gallop!” he shouted; and, setting spurs to his horse, he dashed off, followed by his men, for there, a quarter of a mile to the left, was a little party of six horsemen stealing along a narrow coombe, after evading their pursuers in some way.

They were well in view as Fred emerged from the wooded land, and were evidently spurring hard to escape, and for the next quarter of an hour the chances seemed even, for the distance was maintained, and each party kept well together; but after that the pace began to tell, and horse and man tailed off till both parties seemed to be straggling over the ground, the better-mounted to the front, the worse hanging behind.

It was soon evident that the pursuers’ horses were far fresher than those of the Royalists; and after shouting to his men to come on, Fred raced forward, with Samson close behind, and after a headlong gallop of about ten minutes, the young leader had overtaken the hindmost horseman, who was standing in his stirrups, his morion close down over his eyes, his back up, and apparently blind to everything that was before him as well as behind.

“Have him, Samson, lad,” cried Fred, as he spurred on past this fugitive to try and overtake the leader, a young-looking man in showy cavalier hat and feathers, who kept on turning in his saddle and encouraging his men to fresh exertions.

The next minute, as they thundered along, Samson rode straight at the man with the morion over his eyes, but before he could reach him the fugitive’s horse made a poor attempt to clear a bush in his way, stumbled, fell headlong, and shot his rider half a dozen yards in front.

“Prisoners; and don’t hurt them,” shouted Fred, waving his sword, and his men gave an answering yell. So did the pursued, for no sooner did the young leader discover that one of his men was down than he checked his horse, held up his sword for the others to rally round him, and turned at once on the party headed by Fred.

It was a gallant attempt, but useless. Their horses were spent, and as they were checked before they could make any effective stand, Fred’s party literally sprung at them. There was a sharp shock; the exchange of a few blows, and it was all over, the little party being literally ridden down, their leader going over, horse and all, at Fred’s charge.

The young Cavalier struggled free from his fallen horse, and tried to drag a pistol from the holster at his saddle-bow, for his sword had flown a dozen yards away among the bushes; but Fred had him by the neck directly, his hand well inside the steel gorget he wore, and in one breath he shouted, as he held his sword at his breast, “Surrender!” and then, “Scar Markham! You!”

“Yes. Give up, my lads,” cried the prisoner. “We’ve done all we could. Let the crop-ears have a few prisoners for once in a way.”

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